Undertow
by hedwigshero
Summary: COMPLETE! Trapped in the confines of number twelve Grimmauld Place, Ron and Hermione find themselves plunged head-first into a sea of lust. Will they be able to fight the current, or get pulled down by the undertow?
1. Part One: Into the Deep

**Synopsis****: **Trapped in the confines of number twelve Grimmauld Place, Ron and Hermione find themselves plunged head-first into a sea of lust. Will they be able to fight the current, or get pulled down by the undertow?

**Disclaimer:** I do not own Harry Potter.

**Author's Note:** Thank you to my forever-beta** Jesrod82** for being not only my amazing beta reader but also my inspiration and the most supportive friend ever. She is Midas and her touch has turned this story to gold!

**09/19/2012:** My first work of Romione fan fiction has been completed and on Hermione's birthday, no less. How fitting... Happy Birthday Hermione Granger!

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**Undertow**

_Glaciers have melted to the sea  
I wish the tide would take me over  
I've been down on my knees  
And you just keep on getting closer_

~ Crystallized, The XX

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**Part 1: _Into the Deep_**

"Be a bit gentler," I say with a slight laugh as I watch Ron's large hands clumsily push on the piano's keys. A grimace wrinkles his smooth lips. Before I can stop myself, my natural impatience takes over and I pull his hand away, placing my fingers lightly on the keys that are still warm from his touch. As I reach across his body to play the notes I am taken hostage by his scent, and suddenly I am bound by the smell of warm linens, mulled spice and something I can only describe as 'Ron.'

He seeps into my veins and warms my blood.

My body's reaction to Ron's proximity causes my fingers to tremble without permission as I delicately play the first stanza of Fur Elise, one of the first pieces I learned to play. The song is so deeply ingrained in my bones I can play it in my sleep: convenient, because I can feel Ron's eyes on me and my brain turns to mush and is trickling down my spine.

My fingers work independently, creating music, as Ron's eyes trace over my face, making it burn scarlet. The blush spreads over my body, heating me down to the tips of my toes. I bask in the warmth of his stare; it both excites me, and makes me extremely nervous at the same time.

I had sat down at the dusty piano that lingered in the corner of the drawing room at number twelve Grimmauld Place to try and clear my head. My brain needed to digest Professor Lupins' surprise appearance and all too hasty exit. Playing the piano always seemed to help unclutter my thoughts, and at that point my brain was as unorganized as a parchment shop in a windstorm. Harry was brooding on the sofa at the other end of the room with his snitch floating obediently in front of his nose. Obviously he was still consumed with what had transpired between him and Remus as well.

As my fingers began to take a familiar path over the keys I heard a quiet voice that, although soft, made me almost jump out of my skin; Ron had materialized behind me.

"I didn't know you knew how to play," he said. "Can you teach me something?" he added as he moved to my side. My body all too willingly made space for him on the bench as I said,  
"Of course," in a wispy voice.

When he sat down beside me our legs and hips pressed against each other on the small bench, and I sucked in a breath as my stomach did a cartwheel. He placed his hands on the keys, and I stared down at them. And suddenly I was overcome with thoughts of them on me; my face, in my hair, stroking my back, and the muscles in my stomach clenched deliciously, making me squirm slightly. Ron cleared his throat, the rough sound tore me from my daydream, and I sat up straight, trying to compose myself. I decided to teach him Fur Elise, an extremely simple tune that can be picked up in a few minutes by someone who has never played before.

As I finish playing the last few notes in the stanza I look up at Ron. Our eyes meet for a millisecond and a spark ignites. But he looks away all too quickly, and I feel cold, disappointed. He places his hands back on the keys and obediently copies my movements, and he actually is softer this time. Or am I just not hearing properly because my heart is pounding in my ears?

It's now my turn to study him, and my eyes briskly drink in his features like butterbeer – he even has the same warming effect. Rarely do I get the chance to observe him this close so I decide to soak up as much as I can.

A twitch in his arm makes me lose my nerve. I lick my lips and look down at my hands. But Ron's concentration doesn't waiver from the notes his hands are playing so my eyes dart back to his face. I can't seem to get past his eye lashes; they are like a field of wheat set ablaze by the setting sun. I watch him blink; the upper lashes meet the lower in a brief kiss that leaves me short of breath. I wonder what they would feel like brushing my cheek. I am so mesmerized that I don't realize he has finished playing.

He looks up at me and our eyes meet again, and this time neither of us looks away. His gaze knocks the wind out of me; I am breathless. A charge seems to be building between us. I can feel the static prickle my scalp. My mouth is suddenly a desert and I want to drink the ocean from his eyes.

It feels like we are moving closer to each other, like the current is pulling us together. His eyes dart from mine to my lips and back again. This short trip makes my insides burn and my muscles clench in a symphony of heat.

His lips part and I am smacked with the realization that something big is happening. The thing I have been thinking about, dreaming about, for so long is about to happen.

And I have no idea what to do.

I feel like I have just dove into the ocean without knowing how to swim. I search my brain desperately, trying to find information on how to kiss someone. I would have thought with all the obsessing I have done over this moment I would be more prepared, but I am completely flummoxed.

Ron's hand comes up to my face, and the touch of his fingers creates sparks on my skin that immediately ignite the thoughts in my head. They turn to ash and are scattered as my body begins to furiously pump blood straight to my core. His thumb brushes the side of my mouth and my eyes flutter. He leans closer to me, and I hold my breath. My body is alive, pulsing with electricity.

When our noses are almost touching I let go; my eyes close and my body begins to sink into his, desperate to make contact.

And just as I can taste the breath coming from his lips a loud _crack _echoes from several floors down, making us both jump. My head reels, and the room comes into focus so fast I almost feel nauseous. Both Ron and Harry are up in an instant, and I am left struggling to force my legs to carry me to the kitchen after them. The cool breeze that is created as I rush down the stairs helps to clear the lustful haze that has clouded my brain. As I reach the door to the kitchen I realize that Kreacher has returned.

.

~o8o~

.

I stare at myself in the mirror as I brush my teeth. My head is still sorting through the chaos that filled the day; first Professor Lupin, then Kreacher arriving with Mundungus, and then learning that the locket is in the hands of Dolores Umbridge. After we sent Mundungus away Harry, Ron and I immediately began planning a way to find the locket.

We sat with tea and biscuits in the kitchen as we discussed how we would get to Umbridge. Ron was sitting next to me, Harry across from us, and every time our legs or arms touched I had to fight to keep my focus on the task at hand. I made a concerted effort not to meet eyes with Ron, and tried to ignore as much as possible the current I could feel still lingering between us. I avoided thinking about what transpired at the piano, what Kreacher had interrupted, by locking it safely away in a dark corner of my brain.

But as soon as I shut the door to the loo and began the nightly routine of washing my face and brushing my teeth the monotony of the exercise seemed to unlock the moment, and I am swimming in it.

The thought of his lips millimeters from mine causes a giant grin to take over my face and toothpaste dribbles down my chin. I recall his scent, and I feel familiar warmth spread over my body, causing the butterflies trapped in my stomach to flutter madly. I stare into the mirror, my eyes unfocused, and let myself float away in the memory; how his fingers whispered over my face, how it felt to taste his breath, to almost taste _him_... I feel slightly faint as my heart sends all my blood to my core again. And then I feel a sharp ache there; we were so close. _So close_. Will there ever be another chance?

Perhaps this is for the best, I decide. We have an almost impossible task ahead of us, war is looming and the fate of the Wizarding world hangs in the balance. I can't have my head in the clouds like a love-sick schoolgirl. I take a deep breath in, and as I exhale slowly I try to rid myself of the longing that seems to constrict my lungs.

I look myself in the eyes and think; _you need to focus on getting the locket, on helping Harry destroy the Horcruxes. You are a muggle-born witch in a world that is being overtaken by Death Eaters. You have far greater concerns than kissing boys._ I give myself an icy stare, as if waiting for an argument, but none is forthcoming. _Good. _I nod at myself. Grabbing my toothpaste, I shut off the tap and turn to exit.

As I reach for the knob and open the door, Ron practically falls into the loo.

"Oh, sorry!" he cries in surprise. His face immediately flushes red. We stand in front of each other, both frozen. Our eyes dare to meet for the first time since at the piano. Ron's proximity causes my stomach to clench, reawakening the butterflies and forcing them into my lungs. The girl who just gave me the pep-talk has vanished, taking with her the thoughts of Death Eaters and Horcruxes, and I am plunged into a blissful delirium. I fight for rational thought. _Leave, _my brain instructs me; a simple, yet hopefully effective idea.

"I'll just…" I'm flustered and cannot finish the sentence as I try to execute my plan.

"Yeah, right," Ron says, but he can't seem to take his eyes off me.

We shuffle slightly, Ron turns sideways in the doorway and I try to inch around him in the tight space, but I can feel the current that has been flowing between us intensify suddenly. I am being drawn into him like a magnet now. I pause in the doorway, realizing I don't want to fight the current, I want it to pull me right into him.

We stand in the doorway of the loo, eyes fixed on each other, neither of us breathing.

"You've got a bit of toothpaste," Ron says, barely a whisper. His thumb grazes my chin, and it feels like he has just lit a match on my skin. I try to breathe, but the butterflies in my lungs are making it impossible. Instead of pulling his hand away, his fingers trace my jaw line, and then I feel his palm on my cheek. My eyelids are heavy, but I force them not to flutter - I can't say the same for my heart, though.

My feet pull me forward as I lean into his hand. Our faces are only inches apart now, and I can feel his breath dance across my cheek once again. I stare at his mouth and the world melts away; there is nothing but this. His tongue darts out and wets his bottom lip and I gasp. My eyes travel up his face, and suddenly I'm drowning in two blue oceans.

My heart is a fist pounding on my ribcage as our lips are pulled together and meet in a dulcet, lingering kiss. His mouth folds over my bottom lip, and this slight pressure seems to tug at my soul. My body is a sponge, and I soak up the kiss, letting it fill every pore in my body with fire. The sensation is euphoric.

My knees unhinge.

But then Ron begins to pull away ever so slightly, our lips part, and a small space is created between them that crackles with static. He breathes out slowly as he pulls his hand away from my face.

I'm stunned.

My body has finally gotten a taste of what it has been longing for for years, and I am desperate for more. My gaze shifts from his mouth to his eyes and I see a question in them. I answer by throwing my arms around his neck and crashing my lips into his.

His arms wrap around my back and I melt into his frame like hot wax.

Our lips intertwine, sultry and wet, and I am drenched in the kiss. And then I feel Ron open his mouth... I panic for a second, realizing I have no idea what I am doing. But as I feel Ron's tongue graze my lips it washes away the fear, and I open my mouth to grant him access to every part of me.

The feeling of his tongue inside me is incredible.

I tighten my grip around his neck. My toothbrush and paste fall to the floor. With both my hands free I snake my fingers through his hair and groan into his mouth.

Ron pushes me up against the door frame, providing leverage to kiss; deep, powerful and unrestrained. My whole body is on fire, and I am dizzy from the smoke. The kiss continues to build in intensity; we are overflowing, and passion is splashing around us. Then I feel his hands moving down my back, and he grips my bum, pushing himself into me; and our groins rub against each other, creating the most agonizingly pleasurable feeling ever. A low moan escapes his lips, and I drink it in.

My fingers are everywhere; fisting clothing, weaving through hair. Tongues delve into every corner, licking at lustful secrets long hidden away. I feel like I am revealing everything to him in this kiss; all my private thoughts of longing and jealously, my heartache and fantasies. He has unlocked my floodgate, and I am spilling all over him. And suddenly I am frightened of the raw emotion storming out of my lips, my greedy hands, my throbbing core: What if it's all too much for Ron?

But my fears evaporate when he presses me further into the door frame and his lips sear a path down my neck. He breathes out my name, "Hermione…" as he tastes me, and goose bumps erupt all over my skin.

I claw at his shirt as I press my head against the hardwood. The feeling of his hot tongue traveling up my neck to my ear causes the muscles in my core to spasm, and my legs are in danger of liquefying.

I have never felt like this before; my body is alive, humming and crackling with electricity. I feel like I am going to explode at any second, but I still want more... I cup Ron's face in my hands and he meets my gaze. His eyes are dripping lust, mirroring my emotions. In this moment I want to tell him everything I have been feeling since the day he stood up for me in front of Malfoy. That since that day he has been my knight, my best friend, my secret obsession. That he has filled my dreams, my thoughts, and my heart with so much passion that I constantly want to both row with him and be consumed by him.

I open my mouth but my heart is in my throat, blocking the words. Instead I bring his lips to mine; I want to devour him. I can't get enough.

And then I hear a cough, someone has cleared their throat. Ron's body jolts away from mine like a spell has blasted us apart. Harry stands sheepishly in the hall a few feet from us.

"Sorry, mates," he begins, "I- I just needed to use the loo." I look at him, then at Ron who quickly glances down at his trousers and darts into the loo, mumbling something. The door slams shut and I am left out of breath, in the hall, with Harry.

My face burns with embarrassment. I wish _I _could have escaped so quickly. Harry and I look at each other, and his emerald eyes pierce me. As I stare at him I begin to appreciate the situation.

Realization is a Hungarian Horntail, and its breath of fire burns away the fantasy around me. I am reminded of what I told myself in the mirror moments ago. We can't do this: not here, not now, and not to Harry.

My heart shatters.

I bend down to pick up the pieces from the floor but all I find is my toothbrush and paste. I retrieve them with shaking hands and take a deep breath.

"Look, Hermione," Harry starts, in an almost fatherly tone, "I'm really happy for you guys. It's just-"

"No, Harry," I cut him off, shaking my head. "That was…" But I don't know what it was. "I'm sorry," I say instead. "I'm sorry that happened. In the hallway no less," I add under my breath, looking down at the floor. I try to compose myself and struggle to meet his gaze. "It's not fair. It was a moment of weakness and- and it will not happen again." I speak quickly and the words cut into me like shrapnel as I say them. "Ron and I are both fully committed to helping you find the Horcruxes. This is no time for… for…" I am stuttering now, completely flustered and embarrassed, "…petty romance." I can barely say the words, and my face glows scarlet. "It won't happen again, I promise."

Harry looks momentarily relieved but his expression quickly changes to concern.  
"Hermione, it's ok, I know how… how you feel about Ron," he sighs, obviously feeling awkward, "I want you to be happy." He gives me a sheepish grin.

And suddenly I can feel tears well up in my eyes, blurring him slightly. I know I don't have much time until I begin to cry in earnest.

"Harry, it's for the best anyway. This is not the time, nor the place, to begin something with Ron. It would be far too complicated and get in the way of what we're doing." I realize I am mainly trying to convince myself and not Harry as I stammer on. "I don't want you to think that we would put our feelings before helping you. We are fully committed to this, to _you_." Harry's smile turns sad, as if he feels guilty. "This is what we _want _to do," I add, knowing that he had felt unsure about us joining him in the past.

"Hermione, it's fine." But I put my hand up to stop him. He seems to realize there is no use arguing with me. He sighs, "Are you sure?" A tear escapes and carves a path down my cheek. I wipe it away with my thumb as a take a breath.

"Yes, Harry. I'm sure," I say. I give him a look that seems to end the conversation, and I decide to head to my bedroom as quickly as possible. I am in a race with my tears at this point, and they have gotten a head start.

I reach the bedroom that I have been sleeping in and close the door quietly behind me. I cast a silencing charm over it and then collapse in a puddle of sobs on the mattress.

Minutes or hours go by - I'm not sure which - as I lie on the bed, staring at the wallpaper, reliving and analyzing every second that ticked by in the hallway. My eyes burn, and my head throbs from crying. After Ron kissed me - that airy, innocent kiss - I should have just pulled away, thanked him for the gesture and locked it away in my heart to covet later. But instead of testing the water with my toe I threw myself in head first without a life vest, and now I am sinking.

Drowning in a single kiss.

I feel like I am mourning the loss of something that I never really had. It was just a kiss; there was no confession of feelings, no declaration of love, we didn't say a word to each other.

_It was just a kiss._

But no matter how many times I repeat it in my head I can't make myself believe it.

It was so much more.

.

~o8o~

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**End Note: **Thank you so much for reading! This is my first Romione story and second piece of fan fiction over all so I would love reviews.

If my pen names seems familiar to you it is because you may have read my first piece of fan fiction,_ Steam_. _Steam_ is a Emma Watson/Rupert Grint fic that was removed from fanfiction . net because of a rule violation. If you are looking for it you can find it at** Archive of Our Own** (more details can be found on my profile page).


	2. Part Two: Fighting the Current

**Part 2: _Fighting the Current_**

I stare at the grandfather clock that ticks slowly on the other side of the room. I have watched the hands travel across its cold face almost all night. And in those hours I have lived a hundred lifetimes. In some lives Ron comes into my room and tells me the kiss meant nothing to him, that it was a stupid mistake. In others, we disapparate together to a secluded cottage in a far off land, free of Death Eaters and war, and we live out our days in a tangle of crisp white sheets, melting into each other over and over again. Countless other lifetimes drift across a continuum between the two.

When I managed to sleep, snakes factored prominently in my dreams; I was in an inky ocean and long shapes, dark as pitch, circled me as I fought to stay above water. Ron was swimming towards me, his face filled with horror. He reached for me, we were so close, until I felt something coil up my leg and pull me deep under the water. I woke up gasping for air.

Half past five, the clock's hands tell me, barely visible in the pre-dawn light. Too soon to rise? I haven't left this room since I barricaded myself in and drowned in my tears. I want to see Ron before breakfast and purge all the thoughts that have been mounting in my brain like clouds before a storm. But maybe it would be better if I wait until after breakfast; Ron is always more amicable on a full stomach. I wonder briefly if Ron and Harry spoke last night. Theirs is a friendship that I will never be able to compete with; my femininity will always separate me somewhat from them. However, I have a feeling that, even though they are extremely close, neither of them would be in a hurry to broach the subject.

My eyes feel raw, and my chest aches. I roll over onto my back, wishing I can just sink into the mattress and disappear. My brain needs to rest; it feels as if I have been trying to solve an Arithmancy problem with too many variables all night. I try to imagine a blank piece of parchment; emptiness. But as soon as I do, one word get scrolled across it: _Ron…_ A smile cracks in the corners of my lips. _Why fight it?_ I ask myself with a deep sigh. So I saturate myself in the memory of our kiss; I close my eyes and let it hydrate them, an oasis in a desert. I can smell Ron all around me again. And this time as I replay our kiss there is no Harry to interrupt us...

Memory turns to fantasy as Ron's muscular arms lift me up and I wrap my legs around his waist. Our lips intertwine, hot and wet. And suddenly we are naked; sweat runs down my back, making me slide up against the hardwood door frame as Ron thrusts into me with fevered passion…

The next thing I know sunlight assaults my still-recovering eyes as it breaks through a crack in the thick curtains. I turn my head and look over at the clock; quarter past eight. Ron and Harry must be up by now. I bring a hand up to shield my eyes from the sun, giving them a slight reprieve from the morning light. I attempt to move my other hand to rub my face and realize it's caught inside my knickers. I feel hot and sticky. I slip it out and a blush tingles over my puffy face.  
No one is here to see me but I feel embarrassed and slightly ashamed of myself.

Although I know it's nothing to be ashamed of, but succumbing to my body's basal urges makes me feel weak. Am I no better than any other randy teenager? I shudder at the thought. The promise I made to Harry may be more difficult to keep than originally anticipated.

.

~o8o~

.

"We need to talk," I say.

I managed to catch Ron before he went down to breakfast. I knocked softly on his door after visiting the loo: I spent more time than I care to admit taming my unruly curls and using a cooling charm to take the puffiness out of my face. After scrubbing my teeth thoroughly I held my own stare in the mirror. And suddenly I was choking on a mouthful of giggles, as if I was sharing a private joke with my reflection. I shook my head. _Oh Hermione, what has become of you? One kiss and you turn into a blubbering mess. Imagine what you would be like if you and Ron…_ I slammed the breaks on that train of thought so fast it jolted to a halt that flung me back to reality.

And now I'm standing in Ron's room, my emotions so tightly coiled and restrained I feel like if I were to bump into something I will violently spring apart.

"Yeah, alright," Ron agrees. He is standing beside his unmade bed and seems to have no idea what to do with his hands: He had shoved them in his pockets, crossed his arms over his chest and now, as he sits on the bed, he rubs them on his thighs. He gestures for me to sit next to him. I tentatively move towards the bed, and as I look at Ron and then at the tangled sheets I see a flash in my mind of Ron pushing me down onto them, his weight melding me into the mattress, as he snogs me deeply. My hands rake his back and I hook my leg over his thigh. I feel him hard against my core, and I dig my heel into his back, urging him to grind against me…

"Hermione?" I must have been staring at the sheets for too long. I pull myself, kicking and screaming, out of the daydream. My eyes slowly wander from the bedclothes to his face.

"Humm..?" I am still slightly dazed. "Oh, ahhh, I think it might be best if I stand," I say and I will my face not to blush. Ron looks confused at first. But then it's like a tiny light flickers in his head and the corner of his mouth turns up slightly. He has obviously read the thoughts right off my gob-smacked face. But right now I have enough to worry about and try to wade through my embarrassment.

"About what happened last night," I begin and then pause, waiting for a reaction from him. His face turns serious but I can't seem to discern any of what is going on inside his head. I would give anything to be a Legilimens right now. I am hoping he is going to give me something to go on but he remains a statue.

"I don't think we should do that again," I say as slowly as possible, giving my mind time to attempt to decipher his expression as he takes in my words. But his face is still stone, the same serious expression etched in deep. I am forced to go on, "it's not that I don't want to do it again," I practically trip over the words, as I blurt them out. "But it was totally inappropriate! I mean, it was lovely…" my eyes unfocus for a second, I feel a pull deep in my core as I think about the kiss again. _Stay on track Hermione_, "but we can't! It's just not the right time… Well, it's the worst time, really. I mean, I don't think there can be a worse time than this… and I wish it wasn't, but it is, and…" he is still unchanging as I splutter out practically incoherent nonsense. I want to take a hammer a crack through his stone visage to see what he is thinking. The few seconds of silence is terrifying, and I rush to fill it.

"We need to help Harry find the Horcruxes; we have to be completely focused on that. And if we start… What I am trying to say is… if you and I were to… and with Harry having these visions, and Voldermort looking inside him… He is already dealing with so much; it's not fair to him for us to be… I mean, not that we _are_…" My face must be vermillion by now and I am gesturing madly with my hands as if trying to grab for a life vest while drowning. "But even if we_ were_…it… I… It's just not a good idea..." I am stuttering, flustered and completely out of breath by the time I stop talking. I can't look Ron in the eye, so I stare at his hands. The hands that were tight around my back and on my bum…

After what feels like a year of silence I gasp, "Ron, say something, please!" I steal a second of eye contact and then look down at my own hands; they hold each other as they tremble. I peek up to see Ron stand. He is moving towards me, that serious look is now accompanied by a gaze so smoldering I feel I need fresh air. As he moves I begin to back away like a rat cornered by a cat. My heart is pounding furiously in my chest. He continues to move forward and I stumble back further still, desperately trying to cling to the space between us. But I hit the door and Ron closes in, stopping only a foot away from me. I am completely trapped, paralysed. I can't even lift my eyes to look at him.

"Hermione," the softness of his voice lulls me into a false sense of security as he ever so gently puts a finger under my chin and props up my face so our eyes meet. He has me mesmerized, and it's impossible to break his gaze. My heart leaps into my throat. "Did you mean what you said? About wishing you could do it again? About it being lovely?" he asks. I am floored by the question; I had no idea what to expect, but am still taken by surprise.

"Yes," I exhale the word as if it's my last breath. Adrenaline sears my veins as I await my fate at the hands of my captor. Will it be quick and merciful, or slow and tortuous? I search Ron's eyes and find deep pools of longing. I want to make my escape; dive into them, never to resurface.

He opens his mouth and I am terrified he is going to kiss me.

But even more terrified he won't.

"Me too," is all he says, and he takes a step away from me. Disappointment is a two-ton boulder crushing me into the floor. If my arms weren't smashed to pieces they would be wrapped around his neck while my tongue took back every word I said. "But you're right," he sighs. "It's better this way. We don't want to… complicate things, I guess. We need to focus on helping Harry." He gives me a half smile and my heart is a puddle of melted chocolate dripping down my spine.

.

~o8o~

.

Harry, Ron and I sit in a triangle on the floor in the drawing room. Rays of early afternoon sun stripe the parchment and books scattered over the carpet as we begin to piece together all the information we have about the Ministry of Magic.

For the first time in my life I wish Ron and I were rowing. I wish I was furious with him. Well, I _am_ furious with him, I think as I stare at the end of the quill that he is running back and forth over his upper lip. The sensation of soft feather across smooth skin is being mirrored in my core and I squirm, shifting my position on the carpet. I am livid at his moist pink lips because they aren't pressed against mine. I am enraged at his large strong hands because they are not exploring my body. And his hair… I am so mad that his strands of spun fire aren't close enough to burn my face.

I have always prided myself on being completely in control of body. For the past few years I have been extremely disciplined at suppressing any…_ urges_ I may have had while in Ron's company. Even when we were alone at the Burrow over the summer I did an adequate job at keeping my heart rate even and my hands steady. And when we accidentally made contact, although I often had butterflies in my stomach and felt that static charge between us, I was always able to remain level headed.

But Ron's lips on my body seemed to have awakened something wild and carnal that lay dormant deep inside me. A lustful dragon is stretching its wings and breathing fire, creating a fever in me that makes me sweat. Smoke puffs from its nostrils and chokes coherent thought. Ironically, it's now more than ever that I have to be vigilant, ready to stamp out any residual traces of desire that linger inside me. Flush it out. Harry, Ron and I are trapped in close quarters as we plan for the retrieval of the locket; there is no room for a dragon to spin out of control. It must be caged.

I mindlessly draw lines on a piece of parchment, trying to look focused on creating a map of a corridor, but what I am really doing is allowing my eyes to travel up Ron's arm to his shoulder. Hours of Quidditch practice has sculpted his upper body and his muscles test the thin cotton of his t-shirt. I lick my lips and I hear Ron take in a sharp breath. It startles me slightly as I realize he has been watching me watching him. I daringly lift my gaze to meet his.

His sapphire eyes tempt the dragon inside me.

My breath quickens as we hold the stare. I bite my lip, trying to trap a smile. But it escapes; the corners of my mouth curl up and I blush. This seems to have an effect on Ron because his ears turn a delicious cherry red. My core warms to an almost uncomfortable temperature.

Ron blinks, this tiniest of movements seems to bring us both back to reality; he clears his throat, I lick my lips nervously and my eyes drop down to the parchment once again. But my smile is stubborn and seems to take over my face and I almost giggle.

Not a minute goes by and my gaze begins to drift back to him. Ron is scribbling notes on his parchment. The tip of his tongue peeks out between his lips; inviting, seducing, begging me. It doesn't take long to lure his eyes to mine and soon we are locked in a smoldering stare once again. My heart is pulsing between my legs, pumping heat all the way down to my toes.

Our eyes continue to bait each other, each time they meet they create sparks that fall to the dry and dusty carpet. Tendrils of smoke begin to curl up between us.

"Do either of you want tea?" Harry asks, I feel like I am hearing him from under water. I fight to swim to the surface.  
"Yeah, thanks mate," Ron says. Harry looks to me and I gulp and nod quickly. I can't seem to speak.

Harry rises and heads out of the drawing room. I watch Ron's eyes follow him to the door. When Harry disappears into the hall Ron's eyes snap back to mine, and in doing so it's as if he has knocked over a can of petrol, igniting the sparks he and I have been producing and the space between us goes up in flames.

Suddenly I feel like I have just run a marathon; I am short of breath and I can feel beads of sweat forming on my neck and chest. I am desperately thirsty; but not for water.

Ron's eyes paint lustful pictures as they trace over my body. I fidget and squirm under his gaze. A burst of bravery – or is it foolishness – brings my eyes to his in a stare that pleads for him to touch me, taste me, devour me.

_Don't do this, Hermione_, my brain tells me._ Keep your promise to Harry. Concentrate on your map of the Ministry_. But all I can focus on are the hairs standing up on the back of my neck and the shower of tingles that washes over me. My heart flips and wriggles like a fish out of water as Ron shifts on the carpet. He leans forward; I hold my breath. His chest is heaving under his t-shirt and his arms tremble slightly as he puts weight on them. It's as if he is being held back by invisible chains. His jaw is clenched and his gaze so intense it shatters me.

I want to smother the distance between us, grab his shirt and pull him into me. But my promise to Harry has me sewn to the carpet leaving my insides to knot and writhe salaciously.

"Kreacher is going to bring the tea in when it's ready," Harry says as he waltzes through the doorway, cutting in on the dance our eyes and breath are engrossed in. _Thank god_, I think as I let out the air my lungs have been cling to in since Harry left. I pretend not to be disappointed as he sits down beside me and says "So, where were we?"

_I was just about to straddle Ron and snog him senseless_, I think. And then I can't contain a snort-laugh that fills the stunned silence between the three of us. I clap my hand over my mouth.

"What?" Harry asks. I look at Ron and he is chuckling, his face blazing red. I shake my head and breathe out through my mouth, trying to regain some composure.  
"It's nothing," I say, still trying not to laugh. Harry glances back and forth between us, his eyebrow peeks and he smirks.

.

~o8o~

.

The sun's rays have finished their day's journey across the drawing room floor and have left us for the evening. The gas lamps have been glowing for a few hours now and it is Harry and I that sit in their light. Harry and I have been discussing the lifts in the Ministry for the last few minutes. Harry is trying to remember how they are operated.

"Well don't you remember when you were there for your hearing?" I ask.  
"Don't _you_ remember when we were all there to find the prophecy?" Harry mimics my tone, adding and even thicker layer of condescension.  
"I guess we were all focused on other things then," I say apologetically. "I bet Ron knows, his father works there, he must have been there more times than we have." Harry nibbles on the end of his quill, deep in thought. "I'll ask him," I say. "He just went up stairs a minute ago, he can't be sleeping already." Harry gives me a quizzical look and I roll my eyes, knowing exactly what he is thinking. I groan and cross my arms. "We aren't _doing_ anything, Harry! I said we wouldn't and we're not!" I snap.

"Hermione, I didn't say anything!" Harry cries defensively, and looks offended.

"I'm sorry," I say thinking now that I may have overreacted slightly. Just because all I am thinking about is shagging Ron doesn't mean that everyone else is too.

I head up the stairs reaching the floor where Ron and my rooms are. I see his door is ajar, but as I move towards it I can hear the noise of rushing water. I walk past his room to the loo. The door is closed and the sound of the shower can be heard from the hall. I stop inches from the door and bring my fingers up to slowly trace the wood grain as I listen to the rush of water.

I let out a huge sigh and press my forehead against the door as I imagine the path the water is taking over Ron's muscular shoulders, down his smooth, milky chest, in between his thighs... The thought of being this close to Ron's naked body sends ribbons of lightning through my body and there is an agonizing pull between my legs.

A small whimper escapes my lips as I turn and put my back against the door, letting it support me as my knees become weak. I imagine Ron running a bar of soap over his arms and stomach, the rich lather gliding over the contours of his muscles. My eyes flutter shut as I let myself drown in the thought of his hands working the lather into his skin. And then I picture his soapy soft hands writing wanton tales over my frame. His fingers would feel like silk as they slide all over my body. I bite my lip as I try to imagine the feeling of Ron massaging my breasts, tiny bubbles popping over my hard nipples then being washed away by the hot water.

The area between my thighs spasms like never before and I cross my legs to try and dull the ache but it seems to only intensify it. _Why am I doing this to myself?_ I wonder.

I am sticky with longing when I realize I have been leaning against the door for awhile now. I listen for the sound of the shower and realize too late that the noise is gone.

And then I am falling, my arms outstretched, as Ron opens the bathroom door.


	3. Part Three: Raging Waters

**Part 3: ****_Raging Waters_**

"Bloody hell, Hermione!" Ron cries as I literally fall back into his arms. My body willingly surrenders and I disintegrate against his warm, damp skin. My cheek is pressed against his bare shoulder and I inhale deeply against his skin. The scent of clean, fresh Ron invades my nostrils and lungs, holding me captive. Rivulets of water trickle down his wet torso onto my cheek; or are those my tears? Because I am so desperate for him right now I feel like bawling.

I look up at him, his hair is soaking and plastered to his forehead and neck. I want to drink the water that is dripping off the ends of his copper strands. Our eyes lock, and steam is created as the heat from our stare seems to evaporate all the moisture from Ron's body.

A waterfall of emotions cascade over Ron's face, but his features quickly turn icy and his mouth sets in a frown. "What are you doing?" he asks as he practically shoves me off of him. My legs are still shaky so I grab the door frame for support.

The anger in his voice is a slap across my face, and my cheeks burn. It snaps me out of my inferno of a daydream and creates a chill that crystallizes the blood in my veins, bringing my heart to a grinding halt. But my eyes waste no time devouring the contours of his chest and stomach like they haven't eaten in decades. My pupils dilate as they trace the edges of his well-defined muscles. Flecks of amber dust his skin like jewels scattered over a white sand beach; I want to connect the dots of his freckles with my tongue. My insatiable eyes travel hungrily down his torso and choke on the way the towel is resting far too low on his hips. I bite my lower lip so hard I almost draw blood.

"Ron, I'm sorry. I-" Again, I can't seem to form sentences.

"What are you trying to do to me, Hermione?" Ron's words cut in.

"What… what are you talking about? I was just…" I am hypnotized by the way a shadow is playing over his stomach, and gaze longingly at the point where the soft terry cloth of the towel hugs his narrow hips.

"What am I talking about? All _this_." He gestures back and forth between us. "You kiss me, then tell me we can't go any further," Ron begins to explain. "But then in the drawing room… What was all that? Are you trying to torture me?"

I am completely taken aback by what he is saying. I have been so focused on trying to keep the lid on my overabundance of hormones that I never even thought that Ron was wrestling with his as well. "I'm trying to stay away from you," he continues, "but you are making it bloody hard! And what are you doing now? Literally throwing yourself at me? What the hell, Hermione? You're driving me mental!"

"What?" I am stunned and my first reaction is to go on the defensive. "Ron, that is absurd. I wasn't throwing myself at you." I feign composure. "And I am in no way leading you on." I cross my arms over my chest and mask my fluster with a haughty expression. "I stand by what I said: We can't let what is going on between us progress, and I think it's_ you_ who is leading _me_ on – the way you were looking at me before? How am I supposed to respond to that?" I'm spilling out lies in hopes that Ron will trip on one and I can make my escape. But he is still coming at me, hurdling over them with confidence.

"Not by lurking outside the loo while I'm showering! You're the one who decided we shouldn't touch each other. You should try following your own rules. That is, if you can." I interpret this as him saying I am weak, and it does not go over well.

"I was just waiting to ask you something about what Harry and I were discussing downstairs. You are the one that is obviously jumping to conclusions! Not everything is about shagging, Ron." I try not to yell.

"Right, and the way you were staring at me just now, biting your lip and looking so- so..." He momentarily trails off, perhaps lost in a fantasy of his own. He shakes his head and chuckles, "God Hermione, are you daft? I'm a bloke; sex is all we think about."

"Oh, so that's all I am to you? Just some teenage, hormone-driven fantasy?" I grasp at anything to start an argument, to take the onus off of me, even though I know that's where it should be right now. Ron sighs deeply and lowers his head.

"Hermione," he says in a quiet voice, "You must know that's not true." It feels like those words are only the tip of an iceberg. I sense so much more beneath the surface as I stare into the ocean of his eyes. I desperately want him to express, physically, what is looming in his stare. I crave the feeling of his arms around me, his lips...

_Oh his lips…_

I shake my head. I must restart this argument so I can get out of here with some semblance of dignity. But I can't throw that comment back in his face, it was such a gift and I want to cherish it.

"I know," is all I can say, so I let my eyes speak for my soul. I think he has understood because he gives me that sad crooked smile that melts my heart like butter in a pan.

Hours seem to dissolve as we marinate in the silence between us. We are softening, liquefying, and soon we will just slip into each other if we are not careful.

"Please don't look at me like that, Ron…" I breathe. _Never stop looking at me like that_, I think. But I will myself to harden. I clear my throat and stand up straight. "You have to keep yourself under control." I say in my bossy, 'homework' tone. "I'm doing it; there is no reason you can't too."

He scoffs, "You're doing a pretty poor job of it, Hermione."

"Not as poor as you." A cheap retaliation.

"You want to see a poor job?" Ron laughs. "Don't try me, Hermione, I can make this very difficult for you…" And there it is; my Achilles heel; a challenge. _Don't take the bait,_ I beg myself,_ please don't take the bait_.

"I'd like to see you try," my mouth says while my brain is screaming at it to shut up.

Ron takes a step towards me, invading my space, and I can smell soap and heat, and it recalls my daydreams of Ron's lathered hands on my body. I am already in trouble.

"Be careful what you wish for, Hermione," he whispers. His tone is heavy with threat, and the way he says my name causes a tiny explosion between my legs.

I lower my eyes and turn my head to the side trying to block him out, but he is so close I can't get his soft naked skin out of my field of vision.

All I wanted was a fight, a way to exonerate and extricate myself from the situation. And now, what have I done - challenged him to a duel of wills? How far will Ron go? The thought both frightens and excites me beyond belief.

.

~o8o~

.

Harry, Ron and I sit in the kitchen finishing dinner; half-eaten pieces of garlic toast scatter crumbs over the parchments that take up most of the table. I huff as I try to dust off the map I had drawn so I can make further notations.

Ron is across from me still eating; he has several pieces of toast piled next to his bowl of French onion soup._ God, he is always eating_, I think, annoyed. I have been on-edge since our conversation last night. When in his presence I feel like his prisoner;_ "Be careful what you wish for, Hermione."_ The words are like rope binding my hands, my head is over a bucket, and I am waiting for the ax to fall.

I was blessed with a reprieve when it was Ron who took the first trip to the Ministry today, hidden under the invisibility cloak, to collect information. This morning, after each of us gave a passionate argument as to why they should be the one to go and not the others, we decided the best way to come to an agreement was to draw straws to see who would go first. This morning after breakfast we each drew: Today was Ron's turn, tomorrow Harry's, and mine the day after. Ron took the invisibility cloak and spent most of the morning at the Ministry collecting information.

Although I didn't need to stand under a metaphorical cold shower all morning, having Ron gone was far worse than having him around to agitate me. I was plagued with thoughts of Ron being captured, of never seeing him again. His absence fermented in my stomach and I could taste my worry as bile on the back of my tongue. I was constantly looking at the clock or the door while reading the same page of_ Beedle the Bard_ over and over again, my brain retaining nothing.

When we finally heard Ron enter the hallway downstairs I choked as my heart was catapulted into my throat. I practically threw myself down the stairs and landed in the hallway on shaky limbs, Harry close behind me. I gripped the banister; my anchor, preventing me from sailing into him, running aground on his shores. When he saw me he dropped everything; his rucksack, wand and invisibility cloak created a cloud of dust as they hit the floor. His arms twitched and my whole body ached. I strained against my moorings as the tide in his eyes began to pull me into him. But Harry pushed past me, severing the current and flooding the room with questions, desperate for the bounty of the information Ron collected.

"So there is a really good area here? With cover from the rubbish bins, and the door to the theatre is right here?" Harry asks as he points to a map in front of me that depicts the outside of the Ministry, near the visitor's entrance. "So is this where you were today?"

Ron finishes chewing and nods. He rises and moves around the table to stand behind me. Looking over my shoulder to get a better view of where Harry is pointing, he leans in and his fingers run over the lines on the parchment. "Yeah, a good place for observation," he says. Him moving was completely unnecessary; he does not have to be this close to me; he is doing this on purpose.

I can feel his breath weaving through my hair, warming my ear and neck. The sensation makes my eyes flutter, my heart does the same. I breathe deeply, trying to retain my composure, as Ron continues on about…something._ Pay attention, Hermione_, I scold myself.

"I agree; even though we will have the invisibility cloak I think we should still keep to places that are fairly sheltered to disapparate to and from, just to be safe."

I fight to stay focused but I feel like I am hearing Harry's voice from miles away as he and Ron continue the conversation. I manage to focus my eyes back on the parchment but gasp when I feel Ron's nose make the slightest contact with my hair. I close my eyes; he sucks the marrow from my bones as he inhales deeply, and drains my soul.

As Harry continues to speak - at least, I think he does, his voice is drowned by Ron's breath in my ear - I can feel that familiar current pulling Ron's frame even closer to mine. I twitch, reacting to a static shock, when I feel one of Ron's fingers brush the hem of my shirt. I bite my lip as I count three fingers slipping tentatively under my shirt and grazing my lower back. The static creates a shiver that runs both up and down my spine; producing sparks in my head and fireworks in my womb.

I am furious that Ron can be so bold as to touch me like this with Harry sitting right next to me. I spy Harry out of the corner of my eye, his eyes are on the table and his lips are moving. How can he not notice the flames that I am being consumed by?

I am practically panting as Ron's fingers idly play across my back, sometimes delving below the waistline of my jeans and sometimes traveling up underneath my shirt. My nerve endings come alive and spread salacious messages across my whole body, creating jealousy wherever Ron's fingers aren't touching.

I want his hands _everywhere_…

I can't think. I can't even hear what Harry is saying over the pounding of my heart in my ears. I strain for coherent thought; something simple, some easy facts I can recite in order to restart my brain. I think back to our History of Magic class; the Goblin Rebellions. What was the date of the first goblin rebellion? _You know this, Hermione. You got full marks on that test and wrote who-knows-how-many lines of parchment on the subject; Concentrate!_ Numbers flash randomly through my head but I become panicked because Ron's breath seems to be even hotter on my neck and his fingers are teasing the hem of my knickers now. My lungs seize, I feel faint. _Goblin rebellion, think Hermione, think! 1600… 1625…1698…_

"1612!" I yell out loud as I slam my hands flat on the table. Harry jumps, and I hear Ron stumble back behind me.

"What?" Harry looks utterly boggled. I stare, open mouthed at him. "Are you ok, Hermione?" he asks.

"Ummm… Yes?" I knit my eyebrows, trying to decide. "Yes. Yes, I'm fine," I say as I plaster on a fake smile and force out a laugh. "Yes, I was just thinking about something else." I notice Ron has returned to his seat across from me, but I don't dare look at him; the thought of it makes my face burn with humiliation. "You know, I must be… tired. That's all. Maybe I should just go to bed."

"It's only quarter past nine," Harry says with a quizzical look. Out of the corner of my eye I can see Ron; his ears are blazing red, I notice his chest is heaving and he is desperately trying to hold back a smile. My blood begins to boil in my veins. I am so furious with him right now. He has completely embarrassed me in front of Harry as well as blatantly disregarded our rules of engagement.

I am breathing fast and heavy, and I ball my hands as I think about pummelling him; my fists would make contact with his hard chest over and over again. I would slap that smug grin right off his face, leaving a crimson stain on his soft cheek. And then I would slam him up against a wall and just… and just…_ ravage him._

"Excuse me," I say in an overly-polite tone and stand up. Without looking at either of them I walk briskly out of the kitchen, my nose held somewhat too high, and up the many stairs to my room. Once inside I slam the door so hard a few of the picture frames on the bureau fall over. I throw myself onto my bed. My body reverberates with screams.

.

~o8o~

.

I am so hot. I toss and turn under the thin bed sheets. Even after taking off my pyjama bottoms I am still uncomfortable so I cast off the sheet as well. The air in the room is ripe with my fury as I stew in a mixture of loathing and longing for Ron Weasley. This concoction is nothing new for me, the recipe is tattooed on my heart. But tonight the brew is so strong it feels like acid burning away my insides.

My core is pulsing to the tick of the grandfather clock. I rub my thighs together and squeeze, trying to suffocate the fire, but I feel no relief. I trap my hand between my thighs to see if that will help. When my fingers brush over the front of my knickers I get a slight jolt, a split second of pleasure douses my body and then is gone. I rub my hand over the spot again, this time a little slower, and as I do so I think about how it felt to have Ron's silhouette pressed into mine. The wave of pleasure returns, and lingers a little longer this time.

Suddenly I'm nervous; I look around my room as if expecting to be caught for what I am doing, or what I am about to do. But I try to relax knowing that I locked my door long ago; no one can see me, I reassure myself.

I close my eyes and think about snogging Ron. I have replayed our kiss thousands of times now, but I never get tired of it. I let myself drift in the ebb and flow as my imagination draws me in. I think about his wet skin; beads of water carving paths down his chest and stomach. I grab the towel at his waist and pull him into me. He wraps his arms around my back and kisses me so deeply I can feel it in my toes.

As I think about Ron's hands on my body I start to move my hand up and down over the front of my knickers, slowly applying more and more pressure. My mouth drops open and a small moan ventures out.

And then we are in the shower, it's so hot and wet, and steam is everywhere. I have my back pressed into his chest and his hands claim my body. They slide up and down over my stomach and breasts and then travel downward...

I arch my back as I picture Ron's hand where mine is now. The fabric of my knickers is wet and sticks to my fingers. Daring, I slip my hand underneath. I gasp and fist the bed sheets with my other hand as my fingers sink in between my flesh and make contact with the most sensitive part of me.

Ron's lips… Ron's chest… Ron's hair… Ron's hands… his hands, his hands, his hands, all over me.

And then _him…_

Him inside me, deep inside me, awakening the dragon and letting it breathe fire. Flames envelop him, scorching him from head to foot. My hand moves faster, creating delicious friction, and my hips buck, and I moan louder. Desperation floods me as I beg Ron to take on the dragon, he needs to break its chains and let it soar…

I pant and writhe on the sheets, but the dragon remains trapped, raging against its tethers. And no matter what I do I can't seem to subdue it or release it. The more I try the more frustrated I become as the fire inside me wanes, but doesn't extinguish. I turn onto my stomach, my hand still trapped between my legs to try and smother the embers, but the heat is relentless and the smoke suffocates me. I'm unsatisfied, and more angry with Ron than ever before.

.

~o8o~

.

Early morning I find myself climbing out of a deep sleep, my skin is dewy with sweat and my heart races. Desperation still clings to me like the damp sheets; I feel as if I have been running a marathon all night, but no matter how fast or long I ran the finish line always remained out of reach. The air in my room is stifling and heavy with discontent. I turn onto my back and stretch, trying to release the knots that contort the muscles in my legs.

My eyes snap open when a single thought strikes a match in my stomach; the flame glows and moths scatter, frantically bouncing off the walls of my rib cage:

Harry goes to the Ministry today. Ron and I will be left alone, in number twelve Grimmauld Place, for hours.


	4. Part Four: Pulled Under

**Part 4: _Pulled Under_**

The three of us stand in the dimly lit hallway of number twelve Grimmauld Place. Ron is fussing over Harry, flipping back and forth between making sure he is prepared and trying to convince him not to go. On this, Ron and I are of the same mind; we have been trying all morning to get Harry to stay, to convince him it's safer for us to go instead, but he is having none of it. I gave up halfway through breakfast, but Ron is insistent.

"Really mate, you've got to let me go again - it's not me they want. I keep saying it makes more sense if I do the reconnaissance work and you and Hermione work out the plan with the information I bring back."

"Alright then, I'm going." Harry says in an exacerbated tone, ignoring Ron's last attempt to dissuade him, as he unfolds the invisibility cloak. He drapes it over his shoulders and it settles over his body, creating the illusion that he is no more than a floating head. "I'll be back by three o'clock."

"No later, Harry," I warn.

"No later, I promise," he says and gives me a reassuring smile. He pulls the cloak over his head and vanishes. We see the front door open and then close with a hard thud. And then, silence.

Ron and I are all alone.

We stand next to each other, frozen. Nervousness is an icy blade suddenly plunged into my back, blitzing my body with shivers. My heart pounds against my ribs like it's trying to make an escape, and my palms are slick with sweat. I don't want to look at him, but it feels like something is turning my head and forcing me to make eye contact. Our eyes meet, and I hold my breath. It doesn't seem like Ron is breathing either. We are encased in two blocks of ice. I would give anything for a hammer right now...

Pressure is building, my lungs are seizing from lack of oxygen, and our eyes remain locked. And then suddenly we both crack the silence at the same time:

"I'm going to the loo!"

"I need something from my room!"

We shout simultaneously and then take off, practically running from each other; Ron shoots down the hall to the tiny loo tucked away at the end of the corridor, and I bolt up the stairs.

.

~o8o~

.

I pace my room like a lion in a cage. My emotions consume the small space, straining at the bars of my self-inflicted prison. Anger, giddiness and desperation mix with nerves; I am overflowing with indecision.

Fury still makes me want to lash out at Ron with my fists, but I am also angry with myself for falling prey to his taunts. I pause in front of the full length mirror in my room. _You should make him pay for what he did to you; seduce him!_ I think. I smirk and roll my eyes at myself. I'm good at a lot of things, but flirting and acting sexy are not two of them. I look myself up and down; _no, not sexy at all_. The realization is a thorn in my side. _Besides, flirting or deliberately trying to seduce Ron would be playing into his game_, I counter. _I would never stoop to his level -_ _he is being childish. _I yank the thorn from my side and stand tall. _I will remain stoic; I will show him that it is not affecting me the way he thinks it is. Rise above, Hermione, rise above_, I tell myself. But deep down inside of me all I want to do is sink into him.

I linger in front of the mirror, looking myself over, playing with my mop of curls. I try to push away the nagging notion that I am trying to make myself look more desirable; I'm not, I'm just fixing my hair: I run my fingers through to get out some of the tangles, but my locks are as tightly coiled as I am. I huff and frown. As I part my hair into three thick strands and begin weaving them together in a plait everything begins to unravel in my head:

_Stop thinking about Ron, stop thinking about that kiss, and get all the notions of what could happen today out of your head._ But I have wanted this for so long, and it's so close; I can almost reach out and touch it. _Keep your hands to yourself, Hermione! If you do something you will be giving into Ron; he said you couldn't follow your own rules - you would be proving him right! That is simply unacceptable. _But if it's something that I want too then it's not giving in, it's getting what I want. _No, if you give in you will not only be letting Ron win but you will be going back on your word to Harry and to yourself._ Harry never has to find out, we could keep it a secret. _That is extremely dishonest! You made a promise Hermione, you should stick to it._ That was a piecrust promise, it was meant to be broken. _But not_ _here, not now. Now is the time to focus on finding the horcruxes, you can satisfy your cravings afterward. _But what if we never find all the horcruxes..?

Unsatisfied and more confused than ever, I decide that I have plaited and replaited my hair more times than necessary, and I can't stay in my room forever. No matter what, I am going to have to face him. I will go downstairs, make some tea and read _Beedle the Bard, _all while trying to ignore a certain ginger-haired boy that just happens to be in the same house as me.

Simple.

But as I walk out of my bedroom door I can't help but feel like an injured doe, willingly limping into a lion's den.

.

~o8o~

.

I grab the cast-iron kettle, fill it with water and put in on the stove. I turn to the counter and pull down the tins of tea from the shelf. I can hear footfalls behind me, but don't turn around; I focus on selecting a teabag like it's the most important decision of my life.

"Making tea?" Ron asks. Without looking I can tell he stands about two feet behind me; entirely too close for my liking.

"Yes, would you like some?" I say, my voice cracking slightly. I wince at how awful it sounds. I feel him take a step closer, and I can smell him now; those warm, spiced linens I am desperate to be wrapped in. I feel like I have excess saliva in my mouth.

"Yeah, that would be brilliant... Thanks, Hermione."

His lips seem to hug each letter of my name. I hear the all too familiar sound of his deep inhale. Again he pulls at my soul, and what remains of it I can feel slipping out between my shoulder blades, right into his nostrils. The static crackles and sparks between our bodies that are now only inches apart. I have to put down the container and grip the counter's edge to try and steady myself. He continues to breathe me in, and I feel my legs deflating.

_And here we are again, _I think. But this time Harry is not here to save me. The injured doe trips and stumbles at the entrance of the lion's cave. No one is coming to rescue her.

"Ron, please…" I say, half warning and half begging him. I stare down at my knuckles; they have gone white from the strain_. _I am desperate to turn around and be consumed by him fully and completely. My whole body is vibrating as I deny its wishes. _I will not repeat what happened yesterday. I will not, _I order myself.

"Please what?" he asks in a raspy voice, his breath scorches my ear. My heart is pumping blood through my body so fast I swear my arteries are about to burst. I let out a gasp when I feel his nose nuzzling into my hair. _No, not again… _My self-control is a loose thread and Ron is teasing it, pulling gently, and I am slowly unraveling.

"Please…" I repeat, but I don't even know what I am asking for. The word _stop_ is bitter on my tongue. But when coupled with _don't _the phrase tastes so sweet it hurts my teeth.

Now his hands are on my hips. _Oh sweet Merlin... _He squeezes me softly, as if fighting to keep his hands from traveling up further. I can hear his breath go ragged, and that reminds me I haven't taken one in years. I inhale so sharply it hurts my lungs. His fingers are now tracing circles over my hip bones and fumbling with my belt loops.

_This needs to stop_, I think in vain. _Move away, Hermione_, I command my body. But it doesn't seem to want to obey. All the blood in my veins is rushing to my core, and my muscles constrict from the sudden influx of heat. I feel Ron's breath trickle down my neck leaving a stream of gooseflesh in its wake.

I turn around so we are facing each other and lean back, putting my weight against the counter behind me. My plan was to push him away, but my fingers lock into a vice grip on the counter's edge again, as if I am dangling over a cliff. Wanton waters swirl and crash below me. My fingers begin to slip…

I open my mouth to say something, but Ron moves closer to me, placing one leg in between mine. The hint of pressure his leg puts on my groin sends ribbons of pleasure throughout my body, and I shudder. Whatever plan I had to flee this situation has been swallowed in the raging waters below, and I am in danger of drowning.

His hands reposition themselves delicately at my waist; I can feel one of his fingers touching bare skin above my jeans, branding me. Our faces are so close we are sharing the same breath; I feel faint as our panting drains every last bit of oxygen from the air. Ron's nose is now nestled beside mine, and our lips are centimetres apart.

I ache all over.

"Hermione…" he whispers. I can barely hear him over my heart drumming against the walls of my skull.

I swallow. "Ron."

I can't look him in the eye so I look at his mouth; his tongue darts out and moistens his lips. Somehow he seems to get closer still. His nose brushes against mine, and the movement seems to echo between my legs. I barely contain the lustful moan that is rolling over my tongue as I try to get words out of my mouth smoothly, but they trip and stumble in my throat:

"We can't…"

"Then you're going to have to stop me," he says.

My arms are growing weaker by the second as I cling to the counter. My legs stretch like dough as they meet the waves and get sucked down by the undertow; resistance is futile as my body is pulled into his sea.

Our lips brush against each other; lightening strikes.

His hands on my waist grip tighter, and the dragon roars, begging for release. Our lips graze again and I feel one of the shackles crack. Our mouths open and our lips clumsily tease each other.

The dragon fights and the chains tear at its flesh. I have never felt a more sweet form of torture in my life.

And then we both jump as the kettle begins to screech on the stove. Ron steps back and, with a reflex so ingrained within him, removes the kettle from the element, silencing it. Now the only thing screaming is my body. I release a long breath as I watch him extinguish the heat, while I remain aflame. He takes a step back from the stove and bows his head, looking defeated.

_Sod it, _I think, and make a quick grab for his arm. My fingers grip his sleeve, and I pull him towards me with all the strength I have left. The touch of his lips on mine pumps bliss throughout my entire body. I open my mouth and allow my lips to engulf his upper lip. His arms eagerly travel around to my back, and he pulls me flush against his frame.

We grasp each other tightly as our mouths fuse and our tongues reunite; like a lost key into a secret lock they intertwine, and the dragon's shackles clatter to the ground. Adrenaline sears us like fire and everything accelerates.

Hearts rampage.

Tongues probe.

Fingers pillage.

Breaths are taken hostage.

I give my hands free rein, and they waste no time touching Ron everywhere they can reach. I feel him hard, pressing against me, and my core is finally receiving the pressure it has been begging for. I can't help but cry out, and Ron eagerly gulps the sound. He lifts me up onto the counter, and my legs lace around his waist. He thrusts his hips against me; a shock wave travels up my spine, and sparks shoot out of every pore.

Ten fingers are frantic on my body, they slip under my shirt and explore my back while Ron's tongue leaves my lips and carves a path down my neck. I whimper and moan unabashedly as he continues to grind against me.

"Oh fuck..." His breathless curse gets painted across the skin behind my ear. And then he says my name just before taking my earlobe between his lips. My eyes roll back into my head, and I crane my neck. Ron takes advantage of the new angle, moving his lips and tongue down my chin to my neck, and then my collar bone.

I am burning up, the friction between my legs is so intense I want to combust. Both my shirt and t-shirt are trapping the heat against my body, and it's stifling; I am wearing too many clothes.

I desperately need to feel Ron's skin against mine. I untangle my arms from around his neck and push him away slightly. He has a look of confusion pushing through the heady fog of lust that is dominating his features, but when I reach for the hem of my shirts his eyes practically fall out of his head. In one swift motion I pull them over my head, and I am suddenly sitting on the counter in the kitchen of number twelve Grimmauld Place in just my bra and jeans. _Who are you, and what have you done with Hermione Granger? _I think to myself.

My skin is scorching metal and Ron's lips are a magnet. He begins at my neck and trails hot kisses and licks down my torso. When his hands cup my breasts through my thin cotton bra we both groan.

I don't ever want him to stop touching me.

And then his mouth envelopes my nipple through the fabric and I die a thousand beautiful deaths in one second. While his mouth plays with my nipple his hand is delving under the bra and I can feel the pads of his fingers on my other breast. His free hand is reaching around my back fumbling with the clasp of my bra.

He brings his face back up to mine as my bra slips off my chest onto the floor. I cup his cheeks and pull him in to me. The kiss is so deep I can feel his lips on my spine. I lean back, wanting him to take me over but my head hits a pot that's hanging on the wall; it clatters against the other pots and a small saucier crashes to the counter. Without a thought Ron wraps his arms around my middle and hoists me off the counter. He turns and carries me to the end of the long wooden table that runs almost the length of the kitchen. He sits me down on the hard surface and wastes no time reconnecting his lips with mine.

But now I need to feel and taste _his _skin. Lips still firmly attached, I grab for his shirt and begin to hastily unbutton, but Ron has a better plan. He pulls away, reaches over his head, and with both hands tugs the shirt from his body. My eyes bask in chiseled muscles underneath milky skin dusted with cinnamon freckles. I'm so thirsty; I want to taste every inch of him.

We stare at eachother for a moment, panting, our lungs desperate for breath. I see Ron's eyes mirror the ocean of lust that is dripping from my own before they drift down my frame. He is drinking me in, and I quiver as his gaze laps up my bare torso. The sensation is exhilarating; I feel wild, carnal. But most importantly:

I feel _wanted_.

This novel state fuels my excitement like never before and I reach for him. He storms into me, lips crashing together, and I let myself to fall back against the hard wood grain. And then Ron is getting up on the table, straddling my silhouette, crawling up my body.

I pull him down on top of me and soak in the feeling of his skin against mine. My nipples graze his chest as his skin drifts and slides over mine. There is no room in my head for thought; my brain's sole purpose is to process millions of earthquakes as my nerve endings fire messages of ecstasy in rapid succession across my synapses. Ron props himself up on his elbow and runs his free hand up and down side, my stomach and over my breast. My poor brain has never worked so hard in its life.

The area between my legs is pulsing so rapidly my hips throb. I hook my leg over his waist and force his weight onto me, desperate for that sweet pressure on my core. Ron groans as his hips thrust against mine.

Then his tongue is on my breasts and I cry out and grab the edge of the table as he boldly sucks on my nipple. I arch my back into him but I feel his weight lift off me. I open my eyes to see him pull back slightly. Ron's face hovers above mine and it looks like his eyes are asking me a question. At first I am puzzled as to what it could be, but then I feel his hand at the button on my jeans.

"Yes…" I breathe as my eyes flutter shut again. I feel his fingers begin to work on my button and fly as his lips return to my chest; _god, they have been missed_.

His hand releases the button and pulls down the zipper; lightning cracks behind my eyes when I feel the faint trace of his fingers across my knickers.

And then I hear the sound of a door being shut in the distance and scuffling growing louder.  
"What was that?" I ask as I break through a crack in the dense clouds of lust that has been accumulating over us, blocking out all reasonable thought. "Where is Kreacher?"

"I was hoping we could do this without him," Ron says breathlessly. I can feel his lips form a smile on my skin, but the joke is lost on me. He continues to kiss a path down my stomach and storm clouds in my head smother my thoughts once more. His lips travel lower and desperation begins to pool in my lower back.

We have to get someplace more private before this storm erupts and unbridled want consumes us completely.

The scuffling continues in the next room and I summon a huge amount of strength to push Ron off me. "Ron, stop," I plead. He looks at me with the expression of a child who has just had his favourite toy taken away. "We have to get out of here," I say, and I can't hide the bawdy smile that divulges the hidden meaning of the phrase. Ron seems to understand immediately and leaps off the table to search for our clothes.

We race to dress, frantically scooping up our shirts from the kitchen floor and haphazardly pull them on as we head for the door. I race up the stairs, Ron slightly behind me. My heart is hammering in my chest, and my legs feel like jelly, but I will them to continue on the trail that Ron and I are blazing.

This is completely uncharted territory.

Terror and curiosity are fighting raging hormones for dominance in my brain. Each step that I climb is bringing me closer to what I have been fantasizing about for years. I want to run faster, scared something will block our path when we are so close to the goal.


	5. Part Five: Swept Away

**Part 5: _Swept Away_**

Finally, I have reached the summit of a mountain I have been climbing for years. Trembling fingers grab the handle and I breathlessly push open the door to my bedroom. A rush of satisfaction hits me like cool crisp air on my face as I dash inside, panting and wobbling.

I made it; I've planted my flag at the peak.

I stop in the middle of the room and turn as Ron practically throws himself through the door. _We_ made it. My heart is working so hard its beats send violent tremors through my body, making my legs and hands shake.

Ron closes the door and pulls his wand from his pocket; I can barely make out the locking and silencing charms as he mutters them softly before setting his wand on the nightstand. He looks at me; his topaz eyes have darkened almost to onyx, but they still gleam intensely, asking me:_ Are you sure you want to do this?_

And for a moment terror wins the battle for my emotions, and I second guess myself: This is not hasty snogging in the hallway or kitchen. This is premeditated; this is in a bedroom, where the door is locked and a silencing charm is cast; this is a promise-breaking, life-changing decision that needs to be made: Am I ready to follow through with this? Am I prepared for the consequences?

Ron can't seem to wait for an answer; he moves toward me and doesn't stop until our noses are almost touching. He brushes a loose strand of hair off of my cheek and tucks it behind my ear. Then he reaches behind me, and I feel him tug on my plait. He has removed the band; both hands gently unweave my hair and his eyes peel away my soul.

My breath catches in my throat.

He pulls my curls over my shoulders, brings both his hands to my ears and threads his fingers through my hair, his short nails grazing my scalp. The thick strands slip reluctantly through his fingers as if they do not want to be let go of. My whole head tingles, and sparks make my eyes flutter.

"Blimey Hermione, you're so beautiful," he says in a heady whisper that wraps around my spine and cuts off the circulation in my legs.

He cups my cheeks then coats my lips with a delicate, honeyed kiss. When he pulls away I stumble into him, eyes still closed, not wanting to relinquish his mouth. His hands run down my arms and clasp mine. Bowing his head, he takes a deep breath and, when he looks back up, his eyes are glassy.

My heart is a lump in his throat; he swallows, reclaiming what has been his for years.

"Listen, Hermione…" He begins. "These past few days- they've been completely mental. I mean, you've been driving me barmy. And when I think about how I'm driving you barmy too, it makes me even more barmy." He shakes his head, frustrated. "I'm rubbish; I don't even know what I'm saying…" His voice trails off. "I- I've just wanted this for so long. But I never really thought you fancied me." A smile plays over my lips as I watch his ears turn red like an element heating up on a stove. "I just... I _want_ you- so badly…" And everything is serious again; the longing in his voice is gripping and makes me ache all over.

"Oh Ron… I want you too- so much it hurts." Saying it aloud feels so cathartic, yet terrifying at the same time. The corner of Ron's mouth twitches eagerly.

"So you want _me_... and I want_ you_…" He confirms, but his tone and his eyes are leading: _so now what?_ The unspoken words are a veil between us.

Ron bites his lip, as if trying to keep so many dirty thoughts from escaping his brain and spilling out of his mouth. If only he knew about the dam I desperately want to release and how I want to drench him, head to toe, in the torrent of fantasies and emotions I have walled inside of me. I hold fast, but the overflow begins to seep from my eyes.

I brush a tear away with my thumb, and Ron catches it, bringing my hand to his lip. His tongue licks away the droplet while his eyes burn into mine. Then he anoints each of my finger tips with silken kisses until he reaches my pinky finger; his lips envelope it and I gasp as he gently sucks. His mouth is so hot and wet, and I think about all the other places I want the same treatment.

My lips part, and a whimper escapes: a wordless plea.

I can't take it anymore, my whole body trembles with jealousy as I watch my finger move across Ron's lips. I pull my hand away and hastily replace it with my mouth. I breathe him in as we connect, and I inflate with passion. My arms snake around his neck as our lips begin a languid dance. It's sluggish and sweet, like treacle dripping off a spoon in January. I am astounded by how slow the kiss progresses considering the amount of raw lust that is coursing through my veins.

It's as if we have all the time in the world. Down in the kitchen it felt like a race, both of us desperately running for the finish line. But I now realize we have finally won; we are here, closed off, protected, and alone.

Let the celebration begin…

His arms pull me closer as my mouth opens wide to welcome him; I want him in every corner of my being.

We go from a simmer to a boil as Ron's hands delve under my clothes, and his lips tease my neck. My eyelids flicker and suddenly the bed comes into focus. Nervousness fizzles in my stomach and effervesces throughout my body. And that question I left unanswered earlier is a million tiny bubbles popping in my head._ Am I ready for this?_ Ron squeezes my bum, and I can feel his eagerness press into me; the friction is maddening. The dragon's breath scorches the word _yes_ onto the inside of my skull and the bubbles burn away.

I tentatively push Ron towards the bed. My brain has no interest in anything below my thighs; we clumsily shuffle, hoping our feet will get us there with little guidance. Ron's legs bump the bed, and his lips are wrenched from mine when he loses his balance and plops down onto the mattress. He quickly makes the best of his new position by lifting up my shirt and smearing kisses across my stomach. I encourage him by pulling it over my head and tossing it to the floor. I am bare-chested now, suddenly realizing I must have left my bra in the kitchen in our haste to leave. But that thought quickly gets tossed to the floor too as Ron's lips bathe my stomach and chest in bliss.

His hands move up my sides, and I let him pull me down to kneel on the bed, straddling him. Our groins connect and I purr. His hands knead my breasts as my fingers fist in his hair, and I kiss him hard. We topple back onto the bed and Ron rolls on top of me. I sink into the mattress as I claw at his shirt; he practically tears it off in his haste to remove it.

My fingernails rake his back and his kisses fall over me like autumn leaves; I want to shake his tree bare.

His lips travel down my frame until he reaches the waistline of my jeans. He sits up, his knees trapping me, and undoes the button. I watch his face, deep in concentration and suddenly I am overcome with emotion. There is so much I want to say to him, but as I feel him tug my jeans off my hips all I can focus on is the cool air hitting my thighs; a sharp contrast to the heat raging between my legs.

Ron flings my jeans away, and before he can move I sit up, kissing him fervently to gain courage as my fingers fumble with his trousers. Shaking hands unbutton and begin to push them off his hips. He gently guides me back to the mattress, shimmies them down his legs and kicks them off.

Our skin produces steam and our limbs melt together as his body pours over mine like molten lava down the side of a volcano. I buck my hips into him and the feeling of soft, yet firm, pressure sends me into a tailspin. Smoke is everywhere, and I don't know which way is up. And then suddenly the pressure is gone as he eases off of me and rests on his side.

Ron's eyes are a sunrise that bathe the landscape of my body in life-giving warmth. His fingers trail over my peaks and valleys, awakening every nerve ending. Gooseflesh blooms and tiny hairs stand at attention, begging for his touch.

I want him everywhere at once.

My hands grope his neck and shoulders greedily as we kiss, and kiss, and kiss.

"Ahhhh..!" I moan and bite my lips as his fingers brush the center of my knickers. Back and forth they sweep, and riots break out on the streets of my body.

My muscles hold their breath.

Two fingers become three, three become four, and they begin circling, slowly stirring me into delirium. Ron's hand sneaks under the fabric that is drenched in need. He pushes my knickers down my legs and I kick them off, sending them sailing off the bed.

I feel his hand glide tantalizingly slow up my leg, tracing circles on my thighs and over my stomach. His fingers are feathers dancing over my hip bone, but mine are like talons as they dig into his shoulder blades, demanding more.

I writhe under his touch, contorting with desire. And finally he grants my body its wish; a desperate cry punches through my teeth as I feel his hand slip into my fold and make contact with the very source of my heat; the dragon's heart is glowing white hot.

Ron drizzles kisses over my neck and chest as his hand skips and twitches nervously, but my body responds as if he moves with artisan skill; sculpting me, smoothing out my rough edges and turning hard clay to putty. His fingers both soothe and agitate, building pressure and urging the dragon to find an escape from its prison. But in order to gain freedom it is forced to travel deeper into the crevasse.

Everything grows darker and more confined as Ron's strokes become more tenacious. The dragon squeezes tighter into the space, the pleasure is almost pain as its wings tear and its skin is scraped over jagged rock. But it presses on, muscles coiling tighter as each second trumps the last in intensity.

I reach behind me and grip the headboard to ground my body, but the current spikes, and my body, convulses. His fingers move faster; massaging, flicking, teasing. My breath keeps pace, but my heart is beating twice as fast. I can't bare it anymore; the space is too tight, and my muscles are so cramped it's agony.

And then I see the light, a small pinprick in the darkness. With a rush of rabid ecstasy the dragon breaks free in an explosion that devastates all that surrounds it. Wings stretch, my back arches, and the dragon takes flight, laying waste to everything in its path.

Fire is everywhere.

Furniture turns to tinder, bedclothes disintegrate into flame. Coppery fingers dance all around us, igniting our bodies. I am enveloped, smothered, drowned in the inferno.

And then I am reborn from the ashes.

I blink through tears as they baptize my cheeks and pool in my ears. Ron traces their salty path with his lips, and licks my earlobe. Then he whispers;

"Hermione… I love you."

I die all over again.

.

~o8o~

.

My lips can kiss, but cannot form words. My tongue can dance with Ron's, but cannot speak. My mouth has been poised to utter the phrase for eons but now that the time has arrived no words are good enough.

"Ron," is the only thing I can say. Fitting, because right now I feel like we are all that is left in this world. "I- I…" I fumble and stutter, a newborn foal stumbling on virgin legs. He caresses my cheek, calming me.

"I know," he says and seals my mouth with a kiss that tells me he truly does. I wrap my arms around his back and pull him on top of me.

"Are you sure you want to do this? We don't have to, Hermione." I stare into two blue oceans rippling with excitement; I want to get swept away in them.

"Yes, I do," I tell him, and I really mean it. The words are barely out of my mouth when he sits up, ripping off his pants as if they are on fire. He tosses them to the floor, a triumphant smile conquering his face. I open my legs wider as he crawls up my body. He settles on top of me and takes some of his weight on propped elbows. My arm snakes around his neck while my other hand brushes the hair off his forehead and then slowly traces his jaw line. He is so beautiful…

"Are you ready?"

His words are a great tidal wave looming in the distance, making its way closer to me. I don't want to be the Hermione who worries if her life vest is on right, checks to make sure all the straps are fastened to instruction-manual standards, and then huddles in a ball dreading the crash. I want to be the Hermione who runs toward the wave, arms outstretched, hair wild in the breeze, willing it to crash into her and pull her to depths unknown.

"Wait," I whisper. "Do you know the spell?" Confusion clouds Ron's face, but it only takes a second for realization to shine through. We need to perform an anti-pregnancy charm.

"Oh, right." He reaches for his wand on the nightstand. "Do you want to do it?"

"Oh, no, you go ahead," I say, knowing that if I were to take my hands off his shoulders they would shake so violently the calm façade I am upholding would crumble. Ron eases off me and points the wand at my stomach as he mutters the spell. I watch to make sure he has performed the correct hand movement and annunciation. I smile approvingly at him and he lets the wand slip from his fingers.

I take in a deep breath as I welcome his weight on top of me once again .

"Now I'm ready," I say and bring my lips to his. His tongue delves into my mouth and his hips push against mine. And when I lift my legs and wrap them around his waist I feel him enter. Delicious pain grips my body, and my previously loose muscles tense and coil once more.

He breaks my seal and thrusts himself into every part of me.

I am filled to the brim, and feel like I am going to overflow. Again, tears begin to stream from my eyes; years of longing, jealousy and uncertainty pour out of me; there is no room for them anymore.

"Are you ok?" he asks when I feel his hips pressed firmly against mine. He is buried in me now and, although the pain is intense, it is the most gratifying torment I have ever experienced. I feel like I am being ripped apart, but for the purpose of being rebuilt into something better.

I nod and breathe,"Just… just go slow."

Ron kisses the tears that continue to flow, and begins to push in and out of me. At first the friction stings, like nettles being scraped across my skin. But as Ron's movements become more rhythmic it feels like I am being slowly doused in honey; the sweet syrup coats my wailing muscles, soothing and lubricating. Choppy jerks become lucid thrusts and the pain slowly ebbs.

Ron's face hovers above mine; his breathing is jagged and erratic; hot moans and gasps spill out of his mouth and dust my chest like fallen embers. I begin to feel a warm glow in my core as his pace quickens; he is lighting me up both inside and out.

He presses his forehead to mine and suddenly he is pushing even harder. I tense as if readying myself for a stab of pain, but it doesn't come. Instead I feel a surge of pleasure, and I bathe in the heat it brings. He thrusts hard again and the pleasure doubles. I cry out in surprise and grip Ron's neck. I dig my heels into his lower back, now desperate for more of this new found glory. He seems to understand what I want and, eager to give it, quickens his pace. His face contorts in a boiling mixture of concentration and elation. His impatient grunts grow louder as they couple with my lusty cries and reverberate within the room.

At first I was scared I would break, but now the pain is all but a memory, and the bliss is overwhelming. My muscles begin to quiver around him, and agonizing pressure is building yet again. I tighten my grip on him and begin to move my hips in time with his. We are melting into each other; our breath, our moans, and our bodies weave together.

We are two base metals compounding, turning to gold in an alchemist's caldron.

My muscles begin to pulse rapidly; my whole body is a heartbeat. Ron holds fast to my body and cries out my name with a final thrust that sends a shockwave through me so strong I feel as if I have been catapulted into the stars.

Everything is black again. Then tiny lights sparkle and fade in front of my eyes. I feel Ron's body tense and then completely relax. He releases his whole weight onto me, but I am floating so far away I can barely feel it.

It's Ron's lips on my neck that summon me back to earth. My eyes flutter open, and the room slowly comes back into focus. I hear him breathing soft but fast in my ear, and feel his heart beat in rhythm with my own. He pulls away slightly, and his features come into focus. The biggest smile I have ever seen has hijacked Ron's face; it's so wide it slips off his cheek and splashes all over me; I beam it back at him. But our smiles aren't enough; the happiness that is flooding us bursts from our mouths in a torrent of giggles. We hold each other as our bodies shake with giddiness.

My emotions finally see an exit route, and as my body pumps out laughter, I am soon overcome with all that I haven't said to Ron. A lifetime of secrets and wishes churn inside of me. I can't hold the floodgates any longer.

"Ron," I begin, and so do the tears. "Ron, Ron, Ron…" I sigh. He brushes some strands of hair off my face with the pad of his thumb.

"Hermione," he breathes. My name has never sounded so beautiful, until now.

"I can't believe all of this is happening…" I say. "I have been so hopelessly, desperately - not to mention madly - in love with you since-" I stop, suddenly struck with the notion that I really have no idea when I fell in love with Ron Weasley. I guess he has been kindling a fire in my heart for years now; his smiles, his deeds, his faults and his triumphs have all been tinder for the slowly growing flame. "Since forever, I guess." I can feel the truth burning my face. "It has always been you." _And it always will be you_.

As I let myself get lost once more into those perfectly blue eyes, I say the words that have been etched into my heart for years:

"I love you, Ron."


	6. Epilogue: Surfacing

**Undertow**

_Glaciers have melted to the sea  
I wish the tide would take me over  
I've been down on my knees  
And you just keep on getting closer_

~ Crystallized, The XX

* * *

**Epilogue: _Surfacing_**

I awake in the place I have been desperate to inhabit for years: Ron's arms.

Tendrils of light filter through the curtains as the afternoon sun makes its way to the west side of number twelve Grimmauld Place. Beads of sweat glisten like diamonds scattered over Ron's skin as I watch the sun play across his chest. My fingers glide over the contours of his muscles, their path lubricated by the perspiration our coupling bodies created.

I count the freckles that dust his frame through smoke rings that puff lazily from the dragon's snout; finally satiated, it slumbers peacefully, for now... I let out a satisfied sigh; _it was inevitable_, I think as I squeeze my thighs together, my muscles deliciously sore. A dam is only as strong as it's weakest point, and when Ron and I snogged in the hallway for the first time, passion rippled through the foundation, creating hundreds of tiny cracks that marred the smooth walls. After that, my brain and body were in a constant state of strife; one desperate to repair the damage, the other wielding a sledgehammer.

I couldn't function; I could barely breathe.

But as I lie here, clothed only in the warmth of Ron's arms, my limbs are relaxed, my lungs expand with a full breath for the first time in days, and my head is clear: The inferno that had savaged my body burnt away a tangled city teaming with confusion, anxiety and desperate longing. The landscape is uncluttered now, and ready for regrowth.

My eyes reluctantly leave the paradise of Ron's body and find the face of the grandfather clock. Half past two, the hands tell me. Its soft ticks resonate like angry fists pounding on the bedroom door; Deatheaters, Horcruxes, war and turmoil are all desperate to barge in and wrench us from our bliss-induced reverie. And as each second passes, Harry's return looms closer.

The lights have suddenly flicked on in the warehouse of my head, and my brain begins to frantically sort boxes that crashed from shelves during the tornado Ron's hands and lips had created. Harry: the thought of him pricks tiny holes in my heart, and guilt begins to seep through my chest; I broke that promise after all. But the guilt that is pooling in my stomach is not derived from our actions; nothing could corrupt something that pure. My conscience is being plagued by the fact that I feel we will have to keep this from him, at least for a little while, until things get more settled, or at least until after we infiltrate the Ministry.

The Ministry... A new thought topples over the last: tomorrow is my turn to go. Twinges of anxiety begin to creep up my spine. Considering how adamant Ron was with Harry about the dangers of him leaving Grimmauld Place, I can only imagine how our conversation will go, whenever he decides to bring it up. My face begins to warm and a smile spreads over it when I think about the chivalry he will bestow on me. Although nothing he can say will stop me from going, and a impassioned row is inevitable, I will love every attempt he makes to convince me to stay.

At the thought of Ron, I abandon my brain's desolated warehouse and I slowly trickle back into the room.

"We should get dressed," I whisper, lifting my head off his chest. A disappointed sigh paints a frown across his lips. I lean in and try to kiss it away. He opens his mouth and my tongue ventures inside, searching every corner. I taste desire, and immediately crave a second helping. Ron's arms wrap around me and he rolls me onto my back, giving more weight to the kiss. I want to wrap my limbs around him and fuse our bodies together once more but I know I can't.

"Ron," I groan. "It's late; we have to get up before Harry gets back." But his lips immediately begin a counter argument on my neck, and it's very persuasive. I press my palms into Ron's chest and try to push him away, but he grabs my wrists and pins my arms above my head, trapping me.

"Hey!" I protest, while trying to bite back a treasonous smile.

"You're not getting away that easy," Ron says with a sly grin that makes my temperature spike. His mouth descends on mine, and the lights go out in my head once more. His kiss travels like quicksilver through my veins, turning my body against me. My flesh seems insatiable, and I begin to squirm and buck under him. I try to pull my arms free, but not to escape; I desperately want to touch him.

Ron's kisses are summer rain on my skin; his wet lips bringing life to the desert of my body. I want his river to flow over me, filling every crack and crevice. And slowly it does; the trickle becomes a gush and soon he is a waterfall; an overflow of passion douses my body and the desert begins to bloom. I kiss him fervently as I writhe beneath him, but his grip is strong. I am sinking deeper into a sea of lust and, if I stay under much longer, I am likely never to resurface; the idea of drowning becomes euphoric.

But all too soon Ron's mouth begins to quiet; thundering kisses that woke the sleeping dragon turn to a whisper, and then are silenced altogether, when he pulls away. I stare at his lips as if they are keys that dangle just out of reach as I strain in captivity. His tongue darts out and runs over his bottom lip; he looks like a lion ready to feast on his prey.

_Ravage me_, I beg.

But Ron does something completely unexpected, and even more disappointing; in a blink his wonton expression becomes cool indifference.

"So it's half past two now," he says matter-of-factly, as if I am a stranger asking for the time. "Harry usually goes to sleep around eleven. Do you think you will be able to keep your hands off me until then, Miss Granger?" The smugness is his voice is so thick he practically chokes on it. _I wish he would, _I think. Of course he had to get the jab in; he couldn't let it go. I go from infatuated to infuriated in one rapid heartbeat. I huff and roll my eyes in the most obvious way I possibly can.

"And what makes you think something is going to happen after Harry goes to bed?" I ask haughtily, but my current ensnarement seems to take the power out of my words. He releases me and sits up, still straddling my legs.

"I don't, I think something will happen much sooner..." He guiles.

"Is that so?" I sit up to meet him, craning my neck slightly. My eyes breathe fire as I lick my lips and conjure the most sultry smile I possibly can. I lean in closer and feel his exhale on my face; it's ripe with tension. My fingers trace licentious messages over his chest as I open my mouth, my lips pleading to be kissed. And just before we connect I shove him hard and he goes toppling backward; the back of his head hits the footboard with a low thud and a curse shoots through his lips.

"That's for being a smug prat," I say as I begin to scramble off the bed. But I'm not quick enough, and I feel Ron's arms wrap around my middle, thwarting my escape. I squeal with giddiness, like a child being pushed on a swing for the first time. _Take me higher, _I think, _I want to be back among the stars..._

I collapse on top of him and we allow ourselves to get pulled under by the familiar current, snogging lazily as the clock ticks louder. My arms are pythons, wanting to devour him as if he's my last meal. I kiss his cheeks, his nose, his eyelids... but as I draw back to gaze at him I know my thirst will never be quenched.

"Ron..." His name is velvet brushing over my lips. I sigh, not really knowing what I want to say to him, because I want to say everything to him, and not only with words, but with my body, and with my soul.

"I love you so much, Hermione," Ron says as I stare down at him through glassy eyes. "And every second I spend not touching you will be bloody torture." And my soul answers back by dropping a tear onto his cheek.

"Torture," I repeat, barely a whisper. And I kiss him some more. "But nothing compared to what I've been through for so long." Ron frowns; a shadow of guilt steals the light from his eyes. His lips part, and I feel an apology looming; an apology I do not deserve - that was not the intention of my words. I shake my head and press a finger to his mouth to prevent its escape. "I didn't mean it like that," I say. "And what's done is done. All that matters now is _this_. All that matters is that I love you, more than anything." And I replace my hand with my lips, sealing in the words.

.

~o8o~

_._

_Tick, tick, tick... _The clock tisks disapprovingly, and I groan into Ron's mouth. It takes all of our combined strength to untangle ourselves before I roll towards the edge of the bed.

As I stand on solid ground I feel like I am surfacing; the air feels crisp, the world comes into sharp focus, and my surroundings seem more vivid. No longer do I see muted tones of blue and grey; my eyes drink in every colour of the rainbow, each one ripe and glowing.

I am the same, but different; transformed, yet perfectly preserved.

I am whole, but also a piece of something greater.

The room is saturated in melancholy as Ron and I dress; our bodies already mourning the loss of the other. I watch him pull his shirt over his head and immediately thirst for his milky skin. _Yes, this will be torture_, I think. _Gloriously sweet torture..._

I step in front of the mirror and begin to tie up my hair. Ron appears from behind, his arms wrap around me, and his lips find my exposed neck. He breathes me in, my knees suddenly become unsure of themselves, and I deflate. He rests his chin on my shoulder, and we bask in our reflection. For a moment feel like I am standing in front of the Mirror of Erised; what I have been wanting for years I finally possess. But I realize that if I truly was standing in front of the magical mirror I would be seeing so much more: My parents, with their memories restored, looking at me with love and pride; Harry, safe and happy, the weight of the Wizarding world finally off shoulders; and a bright future, free prejudice and war.

But as Ron's placid blue eyes meet mine I feel like I am halfway there. And with the shroud of uncertainty finally lifted from our friendship we will glow in the new-found light, and take strength from the bond we have forged.

Together we are stronger. And together we will fight until the end- no, until the beginning of something new.

.

~End~

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* * *

**End Note**

**09/19/2012:** HAPPY BIRTHDAY HERMIONE! My first Romione fan fiction finished and posted as complete, and on Hermione's 33rd birthday no less!

Thank you's must go out to **Jesrod82 **for taking on this story and being the most wonderful Beta reader ever! Her finishing touches made a huge difference and I will always be in debt to her for her time and support. I can't thank you enough, Jes!

I also need to thank everyone who has been following this story since part one. I have been blown away by the response this story has received and I cannot thank my readers enough for taking the time to review. The support of readers via favorites/follows/reviews and PMs has been amazing and has kept me motivated to write.

And yes, I do plan on writing more. So if you would like to read more from me, make sure you put me on alert. My next work of fan fiction will be a Grintson (Emma Watson/Rupert Grint) fic so it will be posted over at Archive of Our Own. You can check my account there from time to time but I recommend following me on Tumblr and Twitter to get updates on my writing.

I'll be posting some deleted scenes from Undertow and some drabbles on Tumblr so please give my blog a follow (especially if you love Romione/Grinston).

Details on where to find me online can be found on my profile page. I look forward to see you all on the interwebs! Thank you again everyone!


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